


Rot In Hell, IKEA

by rrjs01234



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crack, Batfamily Feels, Crack, IKEA
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 10:39:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7433342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rrjs01234/pseuds/rrjs01234
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some members of the Batfam finally meet their match-- IKEA furniture.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rot In Hell, IKEA

**Author's Note:**

> This is so crack-y oh my god
> 
> I wrote this in like an hour, please don't hate! The characterizations, as always, might be off, and I haven't read Rebirth, so keep that in mind!
> 
> Anyway, I was trying to build IKEA furniture earlier, and... it didn't go well.

“We’re losing him,” Dick Grayson said grimly.   
“I don’t think we can do this alone anymore,” Tim Drake said in despair.   
“Someone call Batman,” Stephanie Brown choked out, distress clouding her delicate features.   
“You’re all idiots,” Damian Wayne said from his perch on top of the couch, observing the chaos strewn about the living room with a judgemental stare.   
The IKEA bookshelf was separated into about a thousand pieces and thrown every which way. In the middle of the mess was Tim, Dick, and Stephanie, all of them with wild eyes and defeat in their postures.   
Dick glared at the small boy. “Dude, you’re welcome to help.”  
Damian said, “I’m not the one Alfred’s angry at.”   
To be fair, he had a point; when Dick, Tim, and Steph had returned from patrol, they had ended up tracking mud and blood all over the carpets on accident. While it wasn’t anything Alfred hadn’t seen before, he had observed the mess with a look of disapproval and passive-aggressively mentioned that there was a bookshelf that needed building. They had all understood that it wasn’t really optional.  
He might as well have given us patrol duties every night for a month, Dick groused silently.   
“We need help,” Steph said. She bit her lip and tapped two wood pieces together in fragile hope.   
“What was that supposed to do?” Dick asked, staring at the wood pieces.  
“I’m not sure,” Steph said sadly.   
“You are all so terrible at this,” Damian remarked.  
“Where’s the instruction manual?” Steph asked, rummaging through the pile of tan wood blocks. Dick hated wood and everything it stood for. He was going to be using trees for target practice from now on. IKEA had done this to him. The Swedes had done this to him. Metal was a blessed, blessed safe haven.   
“I love you,” Dick told the metal chandelier hanging above him, ignoring the look Damian gave him.   
“Guys,” Steph said, a hint of panic in her voice. “Where’s the instruction manual?”  
Three hours later, they had found the instruction manual (underneath the tea tray in the kitchen) and the pile of wood had somehow grown.   
Tim sighed, leaning back in defeat. “Guys, we should call Jason. He’s good at this kind of thing.”  
“When the hell did Jason build an IKEA bookshelf,” Dick asked in bewilderment, definitely not filing the information away for later use (read: blackmail).   
Tim stared at him. “What happens on missions in Bludhaven stays in Bludhaven.”  
Dick looked mournfully into the distance. His life sucked.   
“Tim, call Jason,” Steph said firmly.   
“Got it,” Tim said, pulling out his phone. 

When Jason swept into the room, Dick could have cried from relief. It was probably the one and only time he would react that way to seeing Jason.   
“What’s the emergency?” Jason asked. He was in full Red Hood gear. Apparently Tim had forgotten to fill him in on the details, because when he saw the three defeated superheroes and the bomb of IKEA furniture that had gone off in the living room, he visibly balked.   
“Fuck no,” Jason said.   
Dick reached an arm out weakly. “Please,” he said hoarsely. “Help us.”   
“Fuck you,” Jason said, turning to go.   
“Dude, do something,” Steph said to Tim. Tim sighed and wiped sweat off his brow.   
“Jason,” he said. “Hawaii.”   
Jason froze. He turned around slowly.   
“Are you fucking kidding me,” he said. “You guys have worked with the Justice League.”  
“What, you want me to call up Wonder Woman?” Dick grumbled.  
“You owe me a favor,” Tim said grimly, elbowing Dick in the side. “I had hoped it wouldn’t come to this.”  
Jason stared in silence. Through the blank eyeholes of his mask, Dick could practically see his disbelief. “You’re cashing in now?”  
“Are you going to help or not?”   
Jason pulled off his helmet and scowled viciously. His white bangs were tousled. “Fine.”   
“Bless you, sir,” Dick said gratefully.   
Stephanie tied her hair up in a bun and cracked her knuckles. Her expression was better suited to facing down an army of robots than building furniture. But this was no ordinary furniture.   
This was IKEA furniture.   
Damian wandered off to find a snack as Jason pulled off his jacket and waded carefully into the middle of the mess.   
“Let’s do this,” Steph said in renewed determination. 

In a half an hour, about one-eighth of the bookcase was assembled, which was more than Dick thought he could probably do in a week. Jason had tossed aside the instruction manual like it was garbage-- Steph made a sound like a dying cat and reached for it, clutching the glossy paper booklet to her like a lifeline-- and immediately got to work, grumbling threats under his breath as he did so.   
Tim, Dick, Steph, Damian (who had come back with a bag of goldfish that he hoarded fiercely) and Cass, who had come to gawk at the show, watched in awe as he assembled the bookcase without instructions. He was like a machine.   
“Dude,” Dick said to Tim. “What am I watching here?”  
Tim nodded gravely. “A genius at work.”   
“Incredible.”   
“Will you shut the fuck up?” Jason huffed, waving a piece of wood at Dick, who eyed it like it was weaponized.   
“Should we get popcorn?” Steph asked in wonder. Damian pulled the bag of goldfish closer to his chest.   
They lost track of time, watching Jason with fascination. At one point Alfred brought in sandwiches and gave two to Jason. His expression was unreadable, but Dick could have sworn it looked fond.   
Outside, the sun dipped below the horizon.  
When Bruce came home, he stopped short in the doorway, and everyone froze.   
Jason was kneeling on the carpet with dust in his hair, a mouth full of sandwich, and a half-assembled bookshelf, while everyone else had made themselves comfortable in various positions around the room. Food was scattered here and there. Jason’s coat, helmet, and guns were piled off to the side.   
The room was tense-- it felt like they were waiting for a bomb to go off.   
“Alfred?” Bruce asked, eyeing the disaster. Five heads nodded in affirmation. Jason raised an eyebrow, staring down Bruce with a challenging expression that said “What, you’re not used to seeing your family building an IKEA bookshelf in the living room?” That was a losing battle. No one could stare down Bruce and win, except for maybe Superman.   
“Ah,” Bruce said. He pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers. “Damian, it’s time to go on patrol.”   
The Wayne heir jumped off the couch and followed Bruce down the hall without a word.   
The silence was broken when Jason said, “Someone hand me the damn screwdriver.”


End file.
